


To Let

by jmflowers



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, Family, Jacob's Fold, POV Third Person, happy 2 year anniversary to this moment, potentially the most ridiculous storyline I've ever applied deep emotions to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22180474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmflowers/pseuds/jmflowers
Summary: Vanessa learns about that time on 5th January 2018.
Relationships: Charity Dingle/Vanessa Woodfield
Comments: 16
Kudos: 97





	To Let

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as an attempt at comedy and somehow turned into a love letter to Charity, signed Vanessa (insert poop emoji).

**To (i) Let**

It starts off a normal night.

Noah’s sat in the chair he’s claimed as his own, curled around his phone like he’d much rather be up in his room instead of downstairs with the rest of them. Sarah’s spread her homework out across the table and is letting out huffs of frustration at regular enough intervals that she’s clearly not being distracted by anything else.

The boys are on the floor in the corner, quiet in that way that sometimes makes Vanessa nervous, but each time she glances over they’re busy swapping crayons or grabbing sheets from the pile of colouring pages Charity had printed out for them on the new printer at the vets.

All is calm as it can be.

Vanessa sighs as Charity drops onto the couch beside her, a glass of wine balanced in each hand. She takes the offering with a smile, their fingers brushing as she does so.

It’s one of those little things that had seemed so inconsequential, before Charity. It’s grown to something else, though; the intimacy of simply touching this woman she loves altogether larger and more meaningful than she’d ever imagined something such as that could be.

Especially so, on a night like this, when an impossible day at the surgery trails out behind her and the weight of the world feels heavy on her shoulders. There’s a peace brought about by just being near Charity, compounded in that warm, comfortable thing that’s been present the last few weeks as she’s repeatedly leaned into her for support.

The burden of grief feels lighter, with Charity beside her.

Of course, the quiet of the house helps, too – the kids all around them without the murmur of argument bustling just beneath the surface. She’d thought Johnny and Moses unbearable at points once, crowded into the pub and fighting each other for space, but Sarah and Noah’s ability to nitpick even the tiniest disagreements into all-out yelling matches has been… a _treat_.

With silence comes promise, though: a restful night ahead. They’ll get the boys up for an early bath time and shoo everyone into their beds and then it’ll just be the two of them, cuddled up on the couch for some mindless telly. It sounds heavenly, she thinks.

Sarah huffs again, angrily tossing her pen onto the table. It clatters against her stack of binders, papers rustling as she shoves them all away from herself.

“Trying to blow the house down?” Charity asks, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she shifts herself enough to get a good look in Sarah’s direction. Noah snorts at the comment, apparently more tuned into the happenings of the room than Vanessa had expected.

Sarah swivels in her chair, draping her arms across the back and then resting her chin atop them. “A week into GCSE prep and I’m already stressed. It’s like the teachers are trying to see who can give the most homework.”

“That so?” Charity squints, turning slowly to look at Noah. “Why haven’t you got any?”

Noah shrugs, barely glancing up from whatever’s happening on the screen of his phone. “I’m well smart, me,” he grins, “Got it all done on the bus ride home.”

This time, it’s Sarah who snorts. “Yeah, right.”

So much for that calm evening, Vanessa thinks. She hoists herself up off the couch, attempting to tune out the back and forth by strolling across the room to lean over where the younger two are hard at work on their colouring in.

They’ve each got a Paw Patrol page spread in front of them, the floor around them scattered with ones that are, she supposes, already complete. Mostly, they’re all just an array of coloured scribbles atop the dark lines of the picture, but there’s a few areas where one of them has clearly made a bit more of an effort to keep between the edges. Moses, maybe – he’s learnt a lot already, just a week into primary school.

She can feel her face stretching, just thinking about all the growth they’ll see in him this year. Already, he’s taken a liking to arranging his toys in patterns across the floor, describing them carefully to Johnny like a proper older brother. It’ll be leaps and bounds of new discovery between the two of them before too long, once Johnny is old enough to join him at the bigger school.

It stings, suddenly, when she remembers that her father won’t be around to see it all happen, and she swallows the feeling down with another sip from the wine glass in her hand.

She stands watch above the boys, sifting through her own thoughts, for long enough that she’s not precisely sure of how the conversation has gotten to where it is, but her brain clicks back in at what appears to be the exact right moment.

“Like when you changed the ‘To Let’ sign to ‘Toilet’?”

It’s Sarah who’s said it, her voice lilting into that smug tone she seems to be so good at, as though she’s found a way to silence whomever was acting as an obstacle to her wishes. She’s a lot like Debbie in that way; strong-willed and maddeningly stubborn, ready to barrel through whatever stands in her path. Charity, too, when she’s given half a chance.

Her comment was obviously meant for Charity, though, if the dip of Charity’s chin is anything to go by. Vanessa quirks an eyebrow, watching as green eyes flick to her before nervously glancing away.

“You what?” Vanessa asks, stepping closer.

There’s a definite sparkle of mischief to Sarah’s eyes when she answers, as though there’s some great accomplishment in having said this loud enough for Vanessa to hear. “Granny Charity and Mum trashed this place.”

Vanessa frowns, flipping through her memories to pinpoint a time when there was a sign out front to vandalise and coming up short. “When?”

“Back when they hated Joe,” Noah adds on, his phone finally disappearing into his pocket as he leans back in the chair, arms crossed over his chest.

Charity rolls her eyes. “Who ever said I stopped?”

“Granny Charity used her lipstick to change the ‘To Let’ sign,” Sarah offers up by way of explanation, the corner of her mouth lifting in challenge. She expects them to kick off, Vanessa knows, to distract everyone from whatever the original conversation had been and save her own skin from something. She’s a Dingle through and through, that girl, even if she thinks Vanessa can’t see the trouble in her smile.

“Wasted half of it, too,” Charity grumbles, wrinkling her nose.

It must be the wine getting to her, Vanessa thinks, that keeps her from making sense of when exactly such a tale must’ve occurred. She can barely remember the house at all before Debbie moved in, never mind all the years it sat vacant at the end of the lane.

“Full disclosure, babe,” Charity says a moment later, turning a sheepish grin on Vanessa, “It was more of a warning than a bit of fun word play.” She takes a sip from her wine glass, eyes glued to Vanessa’s face as understanding slowly begins to dawn.

Sarah catches on first, shrieking loudly before covering her mouth with both hands. Noah twists in his seat, his face scrunching somehow further. It takes Vanessa a second longer, her brain sluggish as she tries to grab hold of what Charity’s implying.

And then she gasps. “You what?”

“Why?” Sarah exclaims, leaning forward in her seat. “How could you?” And then, as an after thought, “They cleaned, yeah?”

“Course they did,” Charity mutters, rolling her eyes and rising from the sofa. “Brought professionals in and everything.” She fiddles with her wine glass before setting it on the counter, her hands resting on either side of it to take the lean of her weight.

She’s so good at nonchalant, Vanessa thinks, watching intently as Charity’s shoulders lift and her eyes go slightly wider. There’s a persona she puts on for other people, for even the kids, that says she stands by every decision she’s ever made, however daft they may’ve been at the time. That she’s brave and unaffected and nothing has ever had the ability to touch her.

But Vanessa knows better. Vanessa can see the embarrassment settled around the edges, the fear colouring her features that she’s about to be berated by Vanessa for this newfound fact.

And she would, maybe, under different circumstances. Vanessa’d be aghast at such an admittance from anyone else, quick to pry for more information to at least understand how a person could do such a thing. It feels unimportant, though, in the grand scheme of things and she’s far too tired to tip into Sarah’s little trap.

She strolls slowly across the room, depositing her own glass on the counter next to Charity’s. There’s a nervous smile waiting for her when she looks up, green eyes dancing across her face in search of the anger Charity’s undoubtedly anticipating.

“Okay, boys,” she says instead, looking over her shoulder at Johnny and Moses on the floor, “Time for a bath. Clean up your colouring, please.”

“Five more minutes?” Moses pleads, clutching the red crayon against his chest. Johnny mimics him silently, those big, doleful eyes blinking up at her in that way that still makes her heart squeeze in her chest sometimes.

“Not tonight,” she says, shaking her head, “But if you hurry, Mummy Charity can give you your bath.”

The response is exactly as she’s expecting: crayons quickly tossed into the bin and papers collected off the floor in record speed, both boys barreling past the couch to loop their hands into Charity’s and drag her towards the stairs, even if she’s otherwise preoccupied staring at Vanessa with utter confusion furrowing her brow. Because Charity is fun, even now, and that is how their children know her – for the wild, messy bath times and the silly story voices that they love.

Just as Vanessa loves her, warts and all.

“Finish your homework,” Charity says to Sarah as two little hands drag her across the kitchen, turning just before they reach the stairs to narrow her gaze on Noah. “And you, quit pretending like you haven’t got any.”

Sarah groans once they’re gone, twisting around in her chair to face the table once more. She drops her chin into her hand, snatching up the pen she’d tossed aside earlier and tapping it a few times against the glass. “Do you reckon she was serious?” she questions, flicking her eyes over her shoulder at Noah. “Do you think she actually… in this room?”

Noah shrugs, glancing upwards to Vanessa as she drops her weight back against the counter, folding her arms atop her chest. “Debbie was proper gutted when Joe kicked you lot out of here.”

It comes rushing back then, barreling into Vanessa’s chest at full force. They’d still been new then, not anywhere close to a couple yet but spending nights tangled up in the sheets of each other’s beds. Charity had come in late, a lick of fire on the edge of her tongue, burning for a fight that Vanessa hadn’t been willing to give.

 _He kicked them out_ , she’d whispered in the darkness, her voice cracking on the edge of a sob. Sarah and Debbie and Jack, without a home, and Charity bearing the weight of the reasons why.

“Mum said it was because Joe blamed Granny Charity for your dad’s death.” There’s a distant sort of sheen to her eyes when she says it, Sarah, her gaze dropping to the tabletop and the _tap tap_ of the pen in her hand. It’s that same foggy expression Vanessa’s come to recognize on all the Dingles when they’re forced to remember something painful, as though the only way they’ve ever known to survive the things that hurt is by drifting away from them.

She’s seen Charity wear it, too, more times than she’d ever like to count.

Noah’s face crumples slightly, his forehead creasing and his fingers knotting together in his lap. “She didn’t, though,” he swears.

“No,” Sarah agrees, her hand stilling, “She didn’t.”

And it’s ridiculous, she knows, the feeling of pride that wells up in her chest to see Sarah and Noah with even an ounce of faith in the good of Charity. But there’s a wobble in the beat of her heart just the same, tears already pricking at the back of her eyes.

Because she _is_ good, Charity, even if the decisions she’s made seem inherently bad. There’s a misguided nature to the way she navigates the world, but her pursuit of the best possible outcome for the people she loves is unfailing. Infuriating as it may be at times, it’s one of the many reasons why Vanessa loves her.

She clears her throat, easing her weight off the counter. There’s an almighty raucous unfolding upstairs, the splashing of bathwater echoing through the hallway alongside a symphony of giggles. “Oi, you!” Charity hollers.

There’s an urgency, suddenly, to follow the noise and join the chaos.

And, yet…

“I’m sure she had a good reason,” Vanessa whispers.

Noah looks to her quickly, his eyes gone wide like he’s expected this revelation to be another straw upon her back and not just something to be shrugged off. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop, he is, poised for the worst at a moment’s notice. “Yeah,” he murmurs, “Maybe.”

It’s easy to forget, sometimes, the hardships that both Sarah and Noah have witnessed. She’s been guilty enough herself of chalking the attitude up to teenage angst and rebellion, ignoring the underlying hurt that makes them lash out. They’re all a bit of Charity in that way; haunted and caged by the things they’re too afraid to speak.

“I’m gonna,” Vanessa says, tipping her head in the direction of the stairs. She doesn’t finish the sentence before she’s rounding them, rushing up the steps towards the cacophony.

“Hi, Mummy!” Johnny squeals from beneath a helmet of bubbles when he spots her in the doorway, his wide grin lighting right up into his eyes. There’s a whole different life laid out in front of him that reaches endlessly with the promise of stability, rooted in this future where her and Charity are _together_ , making it work.

It fills her gut with hope just thinking about it; Moses and Johnny as teenagers, as brothers, without the niggling fear of abandonment that Noah wears like a badge. Trusting and loved and happy, as children should be.

As they all deserve.

She tucks it down inside herself, safe alongside the part of her that strives to do better for their children than her father ever did. To be dependable and consistent, present for them in the ways that Charity sometimes falls short – with laundry and making tea and helping with homework. Because they balance each other, and it’s effortless the way Charity injects laughter into their home.

It’s a simple as breathing for her to be as fiercely loyal as she is.

“Hiya,” Charity murmurs from her spot crouched on the floor beside the tub. She’s left her blazer hung on the door handle and pushed her sleeves halfway up her arms. It’s not for much, though, since there are bubbles clumped to her blouse right up to her biceps, leaving circles of wet in the red of the fabric. “Have you seen our Moses?”

She’d fight tooth and nail for any one them, Vanessa knows, and has, on occasion, already. It’s not so far fetched to imagine her relieving herself on the sitting room floor if for even a second she thought it would help Debbie.

Johnny erupts in a peal of laughter, pointing at Moses in the corner of the tub, well and truly camouflaged by an entire beard and moustache of bubbles. He blinks rapidly beneath them, trying and mostly failing to contain a batch of giggles that slips out like hiccoughs.

“Only, I seem to be bathing Santa Claus.”

It’s infectious, the joy that follows, pulling a chuckle from Vanessa as she slips into the room and sits gingerly on the closed toilet lid. She can see clearly from her new vantage point the mess they’ll be cleaning once the younger boys are tucked into bed: water droplets and globs of bubbles gleam across nearly every surface in the tiny bathroom.

Not for the first time, though, and certainly not for the last.

“How much bubble bath did you lot pour in here?” Vanessa asks, smiling when both boys hold their arms out wide in a wild attempt at measurement.

“The whole bottle!” Moses cheers.

Charity winces. “Oi, Moses, I thought we agreed that was a secret.” She winks when she meets Vanessa’s eye, her face gone soft and soppy in that way that makes Vanessa’s insides flip. The urge to lean forward and kiss her blooms loudly, warming its way through her.

“There wasn’t much left in it,” Charity whispers.

They’re so far from where they started, now, when Charity looked at the messes she could make and saw only the risk of punishment. A soaked living room and a kick at her belief in herself is in their past, the mayhem paling in comparison to the light of the boys’ smiles.

She leans forward, pushing the soap and wet tendrils atop Johnny’s head into a mohawk. Bubbles stick to her blouse where she rests her weight against the tub’s edge, grinning at Johnny as she guides his fingers into the _rock on_ hand gesture.

“I’m not mad, you know,” Vanessa offers.

“About us dumping the whole bottle of bubbles in?” Charity asks, making faces at Moses as she does. “Bit too late to be mad about that, babe.”

And she’s so good at it, the deflection, that Vanessa almost lets that be the end of it. Almost wraps up this thing she now knows and tucks it away safe in the corner where they can all pretend she doesn’t and leave it there until it’s a memory they can laugh about. When they’re old and grey and the children are grown and it no longer matters what happened before they were.

But she can’t, because she needs her to know. Needs her to see, if only for a second, how she looks from Vanessa’s own eyes.

“For trashing this place.”

Charity sighs, falling back on her haunches. “Listen, babe –”

“Before we ever lived here.”

Charity goes still, one brow raising as she turns to look at Vanessa.

“And I never, ever want to know where you did… _that_ ,” she swears, “But I know that you did it for a good reason.”

“Yeah?” Charity whispers.

“Of course,” Vanessa promises, “Because you’re a good mum.”

The bark of laughter is loud, Charity’s head tipping backwards with the force of how quickly it bursts from her lips. Only, her eyes are shining with unshed tears when she looks back up at Vanessa, her hands already reaching forward to cup her face.

It’s a gift, Vanessa knows, to love this woman in all her loud, ridiculous glory.

“Com’ere,” Charity murmurs, “You daft mare.”

A gift and then some.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you ever think I'd write 3200 words about that time Charity dropped her load on the floor of Jacob's Fold? Because I sure didn't.


End file.
